


Get Well Presents I thru IV

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-04-15
Updated: 2001-04-15
Packaged: 2018-11-20 11:16:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11334621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived atThe Basement, which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address onThe Basement's collection profile.





	Get Well Presents I thru IV

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Resignation by m. butterfly

Resignation  
by m. butterfly  
  
http://Skinner.Mulder.com/walfox  
Author's notes: One of my few first-timers, this is a prezzy for Elizabeth Gerber, a woman who's done so much for me and deserves a little TLC these days. There are no spoilers, and it's rated PG for m/m affection and naughty language. Thanks, as always, to lovely Lucy Snowe for beta-reading...and title choosing.

* * *

Resignation  
by m. butterfly

FBI Headquarters Washington, DC Summer 2000

"I'm sorry, Sir. I told him you weren't to be interrupted, but he--"

Walter Skinner gave his personal assistant a sympathetic smile. "It's not your fault, Kim. Never is."

The petite redhead glared at the six-foot man who'd barged into the boss' office for the umpteenth time. "Shall I call Security, AD Skinner?"

The Assistant Director removed his glasses and massaged his temples. "No, thank you. I can handle Agent Mulder. That'll be all, Kim."

He waited until the door closed behind his PA before addressing his unruly subordinate. Soon-to-be ex unruly subordinate, he reminded himself. "What do you want, Agent Mulder?"

Without being invited, Mulder sat down in front of Skinner's uncharacteristically cluttered desk. "Sir, I just heard--is it true? You're resigning?"

The younger man appeared to be so concerned, so genuinely perturbed, that the AD had to look down at his discarded eyeware. "Yes, it's true. I promised to stay on until they find a replacement, but then the Bureau and I part company."

Mulder was perched on the edge of his chair, rubbing his hands just above his knees in a manner that Skinner found most distracting. "But you can't quit!"

Skinner barked out a joyless laugh. "I can. And I did. Now, if that's everything, Agent Mulder--"

The agent startled his superior by jumping to his feet. "No, that's *not* everything, goddamnit!"

The AD stood up. "Agent Mulder--"

Shit! The man looked like he was going to cry.

"Why, Sir? I've been your direct report for more than seven years. I think I have a right to know why you're leaving."

"Well, you're wrong. You don't. It's none of your fucking business."

Mulder's fist came down and struck the desk. "Like hell it's not! If it has anything to do with the X-Files--"

Another miserable chuckle. "Why do you always think everything's about you? You're the most arrogant, selfish son-of-a-bitch I've ever known..."

Finally, Mulder lowered his eyes and dropped back into the chair. "I--I also heard that you're leaving because you've become--attached--to one of your agents." He dared to look up again. "Is it true?"

Skinner wiped a hand over his face but remained standing, staring down at Mulder with his mouth hanging open. God-fucking-damnit! Was the Director's office bugged too? Lately, keeping a secret around the J. Edgar Hoover Building was more difficult than climbing Mount Everest in your underwear.

"Agent Mulder," he began evenly, "for the past seven years, I've put up with more shit than I care to think about. I've been bullied and threatened and shot, for God's sake! I've seen good people die and monsters get away with murder. And--" He coughed slightly. "And, worst of all, I've had to send subordinates--decent men and women under my supervision--into dangerous situations. I don't want to go to any more funerals, Mulder. I don't want to get any more calls in the middle of the night, telling me that someone I care about is in the hospital because he or she followed my orders."

Mulder swallowed hard. "But, Sir! It's not your fault that we get killed or injured. It's just the nature of the job..."

Skinner smiled bitterly. "Precisely! That's why I don't want it anymore."

"But--" Mulder turned his head and focused on a framed portrait of the President. "You never answered my question. Do you have personal feelings for one agent in particular?"

Fuck. "Yes."

Mulder still wouldn't look at the other man. "Are you going to act on those feelings, now that you're quitting?" There was something about the way he punctuated the last word that made Skinner want to slap him.

"Of course not! Those feelings are highly--inappropriate. Once I've resigned, I'm going to get as far away from Washington as I can."

"I think that would be a mistake, Sir."

"What?"

"A big mistake. I think--I think that the two of you would be happy together. You should at least try, you know..."

Skinner walked around and sat on the edge of his desk, in front of the agent, who was now trembling slightly. "Mulder, what the hell are you talking about?"

Taking a deep breath, Mulder gazed directly into Skinner's eyes. "You and Scully, Sir. It's obvious that you're in love with her, and she's not seeing anyone, so--"

"Oh, Jesus! Jesus H. Christ!" Skinner shook his head with disbelief. "Mulder, you idiot, I'm not in love with Scully. I'm in love with you!"

Mulder blinked. "Me? Me?!?"

The older man folded his arms across his broad chest. "Yes. You. You! And if you're not going to take a swing at me, I suggest you leave now."

Mulder struggled to his feet and took a step forward. "Me? But I thought--"

Skinner stood to his full height. "Well, you thought wrong."

The agent moved closer. Skinner's nostrils were flaring, and he could feel warm breath on his face. "Me? Really?"

"Mulder, if you don't stop saying 'me,' I'm going to put you in a headlock and let Kim call security after all."

"Fox."

"What?"

"Fox. My name is Fox, Walter."

"What did you call me?"

"Oh, do you prefer Walt? I can do that."

"Walter's fine. But Mulder--"

"Fox."

"Okay, Fox--"

"Walter, did anyone ever tell you that you talk too much?"

Skinner stood his ground. "No. Never."

"Well, you're talking too much today."

"And what, exactly, are you going to do about it?"

When Kim came in five minutes later to see why her boss wasn't answering his phone, Mulder was still kissing him.

the end

 

* * *

 

Marked Man  
by m. butterfly  
  
http://Skinner.Mulder.com/walfox  
Author's notes: Many thanks to Lucy Snowe, soul sister, for beta-reading this drabble, which takes place in my "Resuscitation" universe. There's a teensy spoiler, but I won't say what it is because it'll spoil this story, which I wrote expressly for my dear friend Sergeeva, who's been abused by the gods lately. (Now leave her alone, damnit!)  
Rated: R

* * *

Marked Man  
by m. butterfly

Dulles International Airport Washington, DC  
Spring 2003

For a guy in his early forties, Mulder's eyesight was remarkably good.

Okay, he'd been wearing reading glasses for years, but he could still clearly see things off in the distance that most people his age couldn't.

For instance, he had no trouble spotting his long-time lover among the sea of faces waiting for friends and family. Walter Skinner was standing near the back of the throng, looking directly at him. Of course, the man wasn't exactly easy to miss. He was tall and broad, wearing a full-length black leather coat that made him look positively huge. And then there were the high-tech wirerims. And the bald head. And the goatee...

As Mulder came through the glass doors of the arrivals lounge, he stopped abruptly. Goatee? But that wasn't the only thing that was different... His heart racing, he quickly made his way to where Skinner was, set down his briefcase, and flung himself into open arms. After an all-too-brief kiss, he buried his nose in the crook of Skinner's neck, almost losing himself in the rich smells of leather and soap and aftershave and...and just Skinner.

"How was your flight?" Skinner said quietly against Mulder's ear, warm lips lingering just a little longer than necessary.

"Hey! That tickles!" Mulder pulled back and smiled broadly, his bright hazel eyes drinking in the features of the gorgeous hulk standing before him. "Fine. Uneventful." Using his fingertips, he brushed at the surprisingly soft, grey-speckled dark hair around Skinner's mouth and on his chin. Then he put both hands on the sides of the perfectly smooth head and slid them around to the back of the equally satiny neck. "So what brought all this on?"

Skinner shrugged. "I guess I got a little crazy without you. Felt like a change would do me good. If you don't like it, I can shave this off--" He stroked the facial hair. "--and let the stuff on my head back grow."

"No, I like it. It makes you look--" Mulder moved in closer. "--really sexy. And scary."

"Scary?" he laughed.

"Scarier than usual. In a good way, of course."

"Brat." He wrapped an arm around Mulder's shoulders. "Come on. Let's get your luggage and go home."

"Anything you say, Homer."

Skinner slid his arm up and gave Mulder's neck a playful squeeze as they headed off to the baggage claim area. "Oh, no you don't, boy! It took me long enough to get used to 'Seymour.' One more 'Homer' out of you and you're gonna get it."

"God, I hope so."

And the way he said it made Skinner thankful he was wearing a long coat.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The airport parking garage was swarming with would-be and ex-travellers, so they managed nothing more than another quick peck until they got to the house.

But they began overcompensating the moment the front door closed behind them. In minutes, the path to their bedroom was littered with clothing and they were tumbling onto the king-size mattress, kissing and caressing everything they could get their lips and hands on.

"How does that feel?" Skinner panted after one particularly long French kiss. "Does the moustache bother you?"

"S'great," Mulder wheezed back. "Can't wait to find out what it feels like somewhere else, though..."

"You mean, here?" Skinner nibbled the side of Mulder's neck, then soothed it with his tongue.

"Lower."

"Here?" Now the Adam's apple.

"Lower."

"These?" He pressed his mouth against one nipple while pinching the other.

"Even lower."

After experimenting on arms and legs, hands and feets, he finally reached Mulder's groin. "How 'bout this?" Skinner kissed the slippery cockhead, then worked his way down to the sensitive balls. "Do you like that, babe?"

"God, yeah. More. Please."

Skinner rolled his partner over and ran his lips along the firm rise of calf muscles, the gentle curve of buttocks, the hollow of the lower back, the sharpness of shoulder blades, the little well at the top of the spine. He was now back where he started, and brought their mouths together for a wonderfully long time.

"My turn," the younger man breathed and began kissing and licking and sucking at Skinner's skin like it was all the nourishment he'd ever need. When he finished with all ten toes, he nudged his lover onto his stomach. Skinner moaned as Mulder's tongue teased its way up the back of his right leg.

Although the curtains were closed, enough late-afternoon light was seeping into the room for Mulder's eyes to feast upon the beautiful body he'd missed so much. The April sun turned the fine hair on Skinner's thighs and ass into coppery filaments, and brought out the colour of the--

What the--?

Mulder placed an uncertain hand over Skinner's right butt cheek and let it hover before daring to actually touch the patch of skin.

"Walter, is this--is it *real*?"

Skinner twisted his neck so he could see Mulder's face. He looked astonished. "Yup."

Without taking his eyes off Skinner's glute, Mulder reached over and clicked on the bedside lamp. "Did it hurt?"

"No, not really. Don't forget that your old man here used to be a Marine."

Mulder was petting Skinner reverently now, gliding his fingers back and forth. "But you never got one back then. Why now?"

Skinner put his head back down on the pillow, but continued to watch Mulder out of the corner of his eye. "Didn't want one then. Until I met you, nothing meant that much to me that I wanted to have a permanent reminder of it."

"Shit," Mulder said softly. He had to blink a couple of times to get the small brown fox into focus again.

"And now I have something else in common with Dana," Skinner chuckled. He craned his neck again. "Do you like it, babe? Honestly? Do you mind?"

"Do I mind? Hell, no! I love it." He kissed it, then lay down beside his lover, nose to nose. "Okay, let's see: during the two weeks I was away, you shaved your head, grew a goatee, and had your ass tattooed. Is there anything else I should know about, Walter?"

Skinner laughed heartily. "That's it. I swear."

"Is this your way of telling me not to accept any more lecture tours unless you can come with me?"

The older man drew Mulder in for a bear hug. "No, it's my way of telling you that I was in a rut and wanted to try a new look."

"And the tattoo?"

"That's my way of telling you that I love you. Forever." He snaked his hand between their bodies and clasped Mulder's semi-erect cock. "If I'd known it would distract you so much, I never would have had it done," he growled.

Mulder blinked some more, then smiled. "Gee, Walter, I'm thinking maybe you missed me a little..."

"Yeah? Let me show you how much."

Later, just before Mulder drifted off to sleep with Skinner's head pillowed on his chest, the younger man carefully lifted the covers for another peek at the tattoo.

"I love you forever too, Walter," he whispered to the slumbering giant.

And even when he closed his eyes, he could still see the small brown fox...and knew that Walter Skinner was his for life.

the end

 

* * *

 

First Impressions  
by m. butterfly  
  
http://Skinner.Mulder.com/walfox  
Author's notes: A while back, my dear friend Holmes -- okay, her eye -- had a run-in with a piece of glass. And the glass won. Therefore, this drabble, set in my "Resuscitation" universe, is for her. It's spoiler-free and rated PG for m/m affection and mild language. Beta'd by my queen of hearts, Ms. Lucy Snowe.

* * *

First Impressions  
by m. butterfly

Georgetown, Virginia  
Saturday, June 26, 1999 10:56 pm

It was the third bar they'd been to that evening. And, depending on how things went, maybe the last.

"Not too smoky," said the blonde optimistically as her eyes adjusted to the low lighting.

"Cleaner than those other places, too, from the looks of it." Her friend tossed her long brown hair over her shoulder. "Come on. Let's see what there is to see."

They moved away from the door and into the high-ceilinged room. There were a number of small round tables, with chairs that actually looked comfortable. Only a handful were unoccupied. Along the back wall was a series of cozy booths, all of them full.

The two women spotted their quarry simultaneously.

"Bingo," said the brunette.

"Uh-huh."

The occupants of the second booth from the left didn't exactly blend into the scenery. One was spectacled and balding but quite attractive in a dangerous sort of way. He was wearing a forest green t-shirt that showed off incredible biceps. His companion was younger and had a full head of beautiful dark hair. His nose was a bit big, but he had pouty lower lip to die for. And a really gorgeous smile...

After smoothing her leather skirt, the blonde grabbed her friend's elbow. "Here goes..."

The men were laughing quietly over their beers when the hunters reached the booth. They both looked up warily.

"Hi!" said the blonde, showing off even white teeth. "I'm Cheryl, and this is Marie. You look like the most interesting guys here, so we were wondering if we could join you."

"First round's on us," Marie added in response to their apparent lack of enthusiasm. Because she really wanted to have a drink with these men. They were the only ones in the place who were neither dorky college types nor wasted geezers. They were older than the women, and that was just fine, because they really liked worldly men.

Now that she was standing at the booth, Marie could see that Captain Picard's pecs were just as impressive as his biceps. And the hand that was wrapped around the beer glass was huge. It made her wonder about the size of his other...assets.

The men exchanged a quick glance, then turned to the women.

"Uh," began the older one, "we're flattered--really--but it's just that, uh, well..." At the same time, he and his friend held up their left hands, which were both adorned with plain gold bands, and waggled their fingers.

"Married men, huh?" Cheryl loved a challenge. "Are your wives here?"

The cute younger guy spoke up for the first time. "No, we don't--"

"Then I don't see what the problem is." She took a step forward, as though she was about to slide in beside him.

"Oh, for Christ's sake," the bald one muttered almost to himself. He reached across the table and picked up the other man's hand, then squeezed it. "My wife's not here, but my husband is."

The guy appeared to be serious. Both women then focused their attention on "Mrs. Baldy," who looked shocked and cocky and happy all at once.

It took Marie a few seconds to process the information. She turned back to the big guy and glared at him. "Look, you jerk, if you don't think we're pretty enough or young enough of whatever, fine. That's your problem. But at least have the decency not to lie to us so, like, obviously, okay? I've heard brush-off lines before, but this one beats all."

"Yeah," Cheryl chimed in, her face darkening and voice rising. "You're the rudest, meanest bastards I've ever met. Just who the hell do you think you--"

But she never got to finish her sentence because the older man suddenly leaned across the table, took his partner's flushed face between his hands, and gave him the kind of open-mouthed kiss that two straight pranksters would never give each other. Nope. Not even for a million bucks.

When he sat back and gazed up at the women, they were gaping like fish flung onto dry land. "Satisfied?" he inquired calmly, his dark eyes unreadable behind the wirerims.

"Walter, you crazy bastard!" the younger man snorted. But if anyone looked satisfied, *he* did.

Walter grinned. "Sorry, babe. I just couldn't let these ladies think we were insulting them."

Marie found her voice first. "Oh, god. I'm really sorry. I just thought that...I mean, you two don't look--"

"Gay?" Walter finished for her not unkindly. "Yeah, well, we were late bloomers."

"Babe" hung his head and chuckled.

"Let's go, Cheryl. Some holiday this is turning out to be."

The younger man cleared his throat. "Uh, Marie? Why don't you and Cheryl have a drink with us before you go. Mine name's Mulder, by the way. And this is Walter."

Marie raised her eyebrows and shot her friend a "what-the-hell-should-we-do?" look, but Cheryl just shrugged and plunked herself down beside Mulder. "Why not?"

Marie hesitated. "Are you sure? I mean, we don't want to disturb you anymore than we already have."

Walter made room for her beside him. "Don't worry about it. It'll make us feel better."

"Yeah," Mulder agreed. "And if anyone we work with comes in and sees us with you, it'll be a good cover."

"Brat!" Walter admonished affectionately.

Marie sighed to herself. Their first night in the nation's capital, and what do she and Cheryl end up doing? Having a beer with a gay couple. A really nice, good-looking gay couple, mind you, but still...

From the beginning, she knew she'd go back home to Oregon with lots of strange tales to tell.

But she had the feeling that this one was going to be the strangest of all.

the end

 

* * *

 

Celebrations  
by m. butterfly  
  
http://Skinner.Mulder.com/walfox  
Author's notes: Many thanks to beta-goddess Lucy Snowe, who makes my life so much easier, and infinitely more fun. This wee story takes place in my "Resuscitation" universe, sometime in the not-too-distant future, and was written for my dear friends Danni, Diana, dot, Kiyoko, rac, Rosalita, Wombat and Xanthe for...well, they know what for.

* * *

Celebrations  
by m. butterfly

Mary-Beth Nicholson sighed into her menu.

Since they'd been seated 10 minutes ago, Sam had engaged in more conversation with the waiter than he had with her.

"Bud Light for me, and a gin and tonic for my wife," he'd said. "Bombay Sapphire, if you've got it. Otherwise, Tanqueray."

And, after their drinks had arrived, he'd said "Happy anniversary, Mare," and clinked his glass to hers.

Eighteen years. Eighteen years! And more than half of them spent having to choose between babbling like a loon, struggling to draw more than yes-and-no answers out of him, or surrendering to the silence and sharing it.

"A *comfortable* silence," he called it. And, at one time, she'd agreed with him.

But now she had her doubts.

Had he run out of things to say to her? Did he find her boring? Did he find their marriage boring?

Having decided what she wanted for dinner, she closed the leather folder and set it down. She was about to ask Sam what he was going to have when she noticed another couple being led to a nearby table.

The woman was stunning: a redhead wearing a knock-out power suit and high-heeled pumps. Even so, she was a head shorter than her male companion, a lean six-footer in expensive Italian wool. He had thick dark hair subtly flecked with grey, and rather prominent features. Yet, there was something equally attractive about him. He was walking just behind the woman, with his hand on the small of her back. Mary-Beth knew she shouldn't be eyeballing them like this, but what else was there to do? She didn't even have any bread to nibble on...

The couple--younger than her and Sam, she wagered--was shown to a booth with a round table and a semi-circular bench seat. A booth for four. A booth that was easy to see over her oblivious husband's shoulder.

Mary-Beth loved to people watch. Not that she got to do it very often. She'd been in her last year of college, studying psychology, when she became pregnant with Amy. They hadn't intended to have kids until she finished school, but accidents do happen, and she gave birth two weeks after graduation. They'd only been married a year. Since then, she'd had two more children and stayed home to raise them while Sam brought home the proverbial bacon.

She'd bet her eye teeth that *this* couple didn't have kids. They didn't look tired enough. And they were chatting away merrily to each other. She couldn't make out what they were saying, but she was close enough to see that they were happy and relaxed.

"Mary-Beth?"

She started guiltily. She hadn't noticed the waiter standing at her elbow.

"Honey," Sam prompted, "you all right?"

"Yeah, fine, Sam. Just daydreaming."

They placed their orders, and Mary-Beth felt the familiar panic welling up inside. Without menus to keep them occupied, what would she do? What would she talk about?

She pushed her chair back. "I'm going to call home. See how the kids are doing."

But Sam got to his feet first. "I'll do it. I've got to use the men's room, anyway."

And before she had a chance to react, he was gone.

As ashamed as she was to admit it, she was glad to be alone so that she could observe these beautiful strangers, fantasize about their lives, without worrying about what her husband--her sweet, thoughtful, quiet husband--would think.

A waiter now approached the couple in the booth with a tray of drinks. *Three* drinks. He served a martini to the woman, a beer to the man, and put a glass of something amber--scotch? bourbon?--at the empty place setting next to the fellow, who then glanced at his watch. Mary-Beth noticed a gold band on his ring finger. And, when the redhead picked up her glass with her left hand, she saw that it was adorned by a huge diamond.

As the woman talked, the man's eyes suddenly left her face and lit up like Las Vegas. For one long and terrifying moment, Mary-Beth thought she'd been caught looking. She released her breath when another man walked up to the booth and bent down to kiss the woman's cheek.

This man was taller than the other one and obviously older, although it was hard to guess his age because he was nearly bald but had a serene, unlined face. He was broad-shouldered and long-legged. His suit was well-tailored, his tie tasteful, his glasses stylish. Quite a looker too, Mary-Beth thought.

The dark-haired man rose and extended his hand. The follicly challenged one clasped it in both of his and shook it warmly. Then, to Mary-Beth's surprise, he slid into the booth beside his friend. What? No boy-girl, boy-girl seating arrangement? The big man's smile spread when he discovered the drink that awaited him. He, too, was wearing a wedding ring. But where was *his* wife? Why hadn't they come together, like the other couple?

Then all Mary-Beth could see was a wall of navy and red and white as Sam returned to his seat.

"So," she asked, "how are they?"

"Fine. Amy says hi."

"Heather and Kevin behaving for her?"

"Yup. For a change."

Their waiter swooped by with a basket of rolls and butter, which gave Sam something to do while Mary-Beth went back to playing Mata Hari.

Oh, and the timing was perfect, because the two men were getting up to greet--

\--*another man*.

The newcomer was about the same height as the dark-haired fellow, but blonde and male-model gorgeous.

The other two took turns shaking hands with him before he sat down next to the redhead and kissed her on the lips. Unconsciously, Mary-Beth craned her neck to get a better view of his left hand. Nope. No ring there, either.

Puzzled, she turned her attention to the opposite side of the table, where the first two men were exchanging shy smiles and--good lord!--holding hands! Actually, it was more of a mutual caress that came and went as fast as single heartbeat, but there was no doubt in her mind what it meant. She flushed as though she'd been watching them making love, then jumped when something touched her arm.

"Mare? Mary-Beth? Hello?"

She patted Sam's hand where it rested above her wrist. She'd never felt so awkward, so tongue-tied, even with Silent Sam.

Her husband sat back in his chair. "They must be fascinating."

Mary-Beth's eyes widened. "*They* who?" She took a gulp of her G and T.

"The people you've been gawking at all night."

The waiter materialized with their appetizers, which gave her a moment to find her voice. "I'm sorry, Sam. I just couldn't help it."

A corner of his mouth quirked up. "What's so special about them? I'd look and see for myself, but that would be rude."

Jesus, Mary and Joseph! Sam had found something to talk to her about! But why this? Why now? She sat with her fork poised above her salad. "Nothing special. They're--they're in love, that's all."

Sam sipped from his soup spoon. "And you know this how?"

"By the way they look at each other."

"That all?"

"And--well, they're having a hard time keeping their hands off each other."

He harrumphed. "So do most teenagers. Maybe they're just having a cheap and torrid affair."

She attacked a cherry tomato, popped it into her mouth, and chewed slowly. What the hell was she supposed to say to him? That the gold bands worn by the two *men* she'd been fixated on made the nature of their relationship pretty damned clear? It was bad enough that Sam found her dull. She had no intention of letting on that she was crazy, too.

But when he bent down over his soup bowl, she couldn't resist taking another peek at the gay couple's table, where a waiter was taking their order.

Of course, she was ignoring Sam completely, which gave him the perfect opportunity to lick his spoon clean, hold it up, and gaze into it as though it was a crystal ball.

"Honey?"

Mary-Beth's eyes locked onto her husband's. "Hmmm?"

"How long do you think they've been together?" The spoon was now doing what the cutlery gods had intended it to do.

"Who?"

"Those two guys. Your lovebirds."

She nearly choked on a mouthful of lettuce. "How did you--?"

Sam handed her a glass of water and smiled. "You're a hopeless romantic, Mare. You even cry over Hallmark and AT & T commercials..."

Red-faced, Mary-Beth patted at her mouth with her napkin. "I do not!"

"You try to hide it, but I've seen you."

She gave up. "You must think I'm insane."

He laughed gently. "I think you're wonderful."

She looked at him. Really looked at him. "You--you do?"

"Yeah." He reached across the table and took her hand. "What do you say we make this night something special?"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"That one," said Fox Mulder, glancing sideways. "The brunette in green."

Dana Scully smiled broadly. "Maybe she just thinks you're cute, Mulder."

He frowned. "Uh-uh. That's not it. She hasn't taken her eyes off Walter and me all evening. Maybe she's related to Anita Bryant or something."

"Maybe she thinks you're *both* cute."

Walter Skinner groaned quietly and squeezed his partner's knee under the table. "Just ignore her, Fox."

"You think I'm being paranoid, don't you?"

Even *Mulder* had to laugh at that one.

"Okay," Skinner said to Scully and Paul Campbell, "why don't you two finish telling us about the house you found?"

"Well," Campbell began, "it's about the same size as yours, and there's this big gas fire--"

He stopped when their waiter appeared with a bottle of champagne, an ice bucket, and four fluted glasses.

"Walter! Mulder!" Scully exclaimed, her eyes sparkling. "How sweet! You shouldn't have."

Skinner and Mulder looked at each other, then shrugged at her and Campbell. "We didn't," they said in unison.

The waiter was trying valiantly not to smile. "The couple at that table over there," he indicated, "sent it over."

The brunette in green! And she was watching. Again.

"Why?" Mulder fairly spat, his hackles rising. "We don't even know them..."

The waiter held up the bottle. "They said to tell you �congratulations.' Should I open it now?"

Mulder was about to tell him to take it back when the woman smiled sheepishly at him and gave a little wave. The scowl melted off his face and he waved back. "Yeah, sure, thanks," he told the waiter, who popped the cork, then began filling their glasses.

Mulder tapped Skinner's arm. "Would you excuse me for a minute?"

The rock beside him didn't budge. "Fox, what do you think you're doing?"

"Relax, Walter. I'm just going to find out what's going on. I'm not armed or anything, remember?"

Reluctantly, Skinner stood up to let his partner out of the booth. He, Scully and Campbell all watched nervously as Mulder strode over to the other table. To their collective relief, he was soon shaking hands with the couple. When he gestured to his friends, they smiled and waved. Then he beckoned Skinner over and introduced him.

"Is it always like this with them?" Campbell asked Scully.

"I'm afraid so, hon," she replied lightly. "Get used to it."

They were still grinning when Mulder and Skinner came back a minute later.

"So?" Scully asked impatiently as the two men sat there Sphinx-like. "What did they say?"

"Well," Mulder said nonchalantly, "they said they're celebrating their wedding anniversary, and we reminded them of them when they were first married."

"�We' as in all four of us, or �we' as in just you two?"

"I'm sure they meant *all* of us, Scully."

"Uh-huh."

"A toast," interjected Skinner, picking up a flute. "To new beginnings."

"And the kindness of strangers," Mulder added in a southern drawl.

"Here, here," Scully and Campbell chimed in, then kissed passionately.

Skinner and Mulder looked at each other hungrily. But they would wait. It was always worth it.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"To you," Sam said, touching his champagne glass to his wife's.

She sniffed. "No. To *you*, Sam."

"To *us*, then."

Mary-Beth nodded happily. "Yes. To us. To another 18 years."

"And then some."

"And then some."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Fini  
August 25, 1999

  
Archived: April 10, 2001 


End file.
